Chapter 3 - THE THING DANIEL HID
I did not return to my apartment.
Lorenzo would not allow it.
That sentence alone was enough to start an argument.
“You do not get to allow me anywhere.”
“You are correct.”
“Good.”
“You are still not going home.”
I stared at him across the hospital waiting room.
“That sounds remarkably like allowing.”
“It is a security recommendation.”
“Delivered like a prison sentence.”
He crossed his arms.
“My men found your front door open, your mattress cut, kitchen cabinets emptied, and every picture frame removed from the walls.”
My anger disappeared.
“They touched our pictures?”
“Yes.”
“Daniel’s?”
“All of them.”
I sat down.
The hospital suddenly felt colder.
Emma remained asleep behind the glass observation window.
Her fever had fallen to 101.
The doctor said the antibiotics were working.
I should have felt relief.
Instead, I imagined strangers inside our apartment.
Hands touching Daniel’s photographs.
Opening Emma’s drawers.
Turning over the box where I kept his funeral program.
“What were they looking for?”
“The ledger.”
“You said it vanished two years ago.”
“I believe Daniel hid it.”
“Why would they suddenly think I have it?”
Lorenzo looked at me.
“Because of the bracelet.”
“You think Vittorio saw Emma with it?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
He paused.
“I had a camera installed in the library.”
My eyes narrowed.
“You recorded my sick child?”
“It is my house.”
“You set cash beside your chair and pretended to sleep.”
“Yes.”
“To test her.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
The anger returned.
“You are unbelievable.”
His expression shifted.
“I needed to know whether you were stealing from the household.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“Me?”
“Several small amounts disappeared over the last month.”
“And you thought the maid with a sick kid did it.”
“I investigated everyone.”
“You left five thousand dollars where a three-year-old could reach it.”
“I expected her to remain beneath the table.”
“She is three.”
“That was a miscalculation.”
“A monumental one.”
“I agree.”
That stopped me.
Lorenzo Duca did not seem like a man who said those words often.
He continued.
“I watched the recording after you left for the hospital.”
My throat tightened.
“What did you see?”
“Emma wake up. She saw the envelope.”
I looked at him.
“She touched it?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“She pushed it farther away from the edge.”
My heart hurt.
“She thought it might fall.”
Then Lorenzo’s voice lowered.
“She stood beside me for almost a minute. She touched my hand. Then she covered me.”
I looked away.
“She likes fixing people.”
“Like her mother?”
“I fix furniture.”
“So I have been told.”
“No one tells you things?”
“Most people tell me what they think I want to hear.”
“That sounds lonely.”
His eyes moved to mine.
For a second, I regretted saying it.
Then he looked away.
“The security camera captured the bracelet clearly.”
My pulse quickened.
“And?”
“Someone accessed the feed remotely twenty-one minutes later.”
“Who?”
“My head of internal security.”
“Who is that?”
Lorenzo’s jaw hardened.
“My cousin, Marco.”
I knew Marco Duca.
Everyone in the mansion did.
Thirty-eight.
Charming.
Always smiling.
The kind of man who touched waitresses at the waist when passing and pretended it was accidental.
He worked closely with Vittorio.
“So Marco saw the bracelet.”
“Yes.”
“And then someone broke into my apartment.”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“Where are we supposed to go?”
“My house.”
“No.”
“You work there.”
“I clean there.”
“You would be in a secure guest room with Emma.”
“No.”
“Sophia.”
“My daughter is not living inside a mafia headquarters.”
His eyebrow moved.
“My home is not a headquarters.”
“There are armed men at the breakfast table.”
“Only occasionally.”
I almost laughed.
It made me angrier.
Then Emma’s doctor walked toward us.
I stood.
“How is she?”
“Improving. Her oxygen level is better. If she continues responding, we may discharge her tomorrow afternoon.”
Relief hit so hard my legs shook.
The doctor smiled.
“She is tough.”
“Yes.”
“She kept asking whether her yellow blanket was safe.”
I looked at Lorenzo.
He said nothing.
The next afternoon, we went to the Duca estate.
Not because Lorenzo won.
Because my apartment had been destroyed.
I reminded him of that repeatedly.
The house felt different when I entered through the front doors carrying my daughter instead of a tray.
Employees stared.
Emma slept against me.
Lorenzo walked beside us.
Mrs. Bellini, the elderly housekeeper who had trained me, appeared at the end of the hall.
“Sophia?”
Her face crumpled.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She hugged me.
Then Emma.
Then, to my shock, she turned toward Lorenzo and slapped his arm.
“You let this child work sick?”
“I did not know.”
“You know everything.”
“Apparently not.”
Mrs. Bellini looked suspicious.
That night, Emma and I slept in a guest suite bigger than our apartment.
I hated it.
Emma loved the bathtub.
At nine, Lorenzo knocked.
I opened the door halfway.
“What?”
He held a cardboard box.
My box.
The one from Daniel’s closet.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your apartment.”
I grabbed it.
“You went through my things?”
“I had them collected before the police secured the unit.”
“There are no police.”
“No.”
“Of course.”
I carried the box to the table.
Inside were Daniel’s papers.
Tax forms.
Receipts.
Old photographs.
His Boston College sweatshirt.
A cracked watch.
Nothing that looked like a criminal ledger.
Emma was asleep in the next room.
Lorenzo stood at the doorway.
“May I?”
“You already invaded the apartment.”
“That was security.”
“Fine.”
We searched.
Two hours.
Nothing.
Then Lorenzo picked up the yellow blanket.
It had been cleaned after the library.
He ran his fingers over the embroidered flowers.
“What?”
“This seam.”
I looked.
One edge was thicker than the others.
“That’s always been like that.”
“Since when?”
“Daniel bought it after Emma was born.”
Lorenzo’s expression changed.
He took a small knife from his pocket.
“No.”
He paused.
“It may be hidden inside.”
“That blanket is all she has—”
“If I’m wrong, I will have it repaired exactly.”
“You cannot repair everything with money.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“But sometimes money is useful.”
I reluctantly nodded.
He cut three careful stitches.
Then reached inside.
His fingers found something.
A tiny brass key.
I stared.
“What is that?”
Lorenzo pulled it free.
Taped around the key was a narrow strip of paper.
Daniel’s handwriting.
I knew it instantly.
Sophie—
If anyone ever finds this, trust nobody named Duca until you find L.D.
My entire body went numb.
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
I looked at him.
“L.D.”
He stared at the note.
“That’s you.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel knew you.”
“No.”
“Then why would he tell me to find you?”
Lorenzo turned the brass key over.
A number had been stamped into it.
417.
He closed his hand.
“Because whatever Daniel discovered…”
May you like
His voice became grim.
“He believed I was the only Duca who might survive learning it.”
